Two: he’d saved the President during an attempted military coup at a remote USAF base. One: he had been involved in a gigantic multiforce battle in Antarctica, a battle which, it was said, involved a bloody and brutal confrontation with two of America’s allies, France and Britain. The rumors about Schofield were many and varied, and sometimes simply too outrageous to be true. Someone always knew someone who was there, or who saw the medical report, or who cleaned up the aftermath. He’d been involved in several missions that remained classified-but the Marine Corps (like any group of human beings) is filled with gossip and rumor. Quiet, intense and when necessary deadly, Schofield had a unique reputation in the Marine Corps. Once on the ground, he’d hide those eyes behind a pair of reflective wraparound anti-flash glasses. Slicing down aCRoss those eyes, however, were a pair of hideous vertical scars, one for eACH eye, wounds from a mission-gone-wrong and the source of his operational nickname. Schofield, call-sign “ScareCRow.”īehind his HALO mask, Schofield had a rugged CReased face, black hair and blue eyes. Leading the Marine team was Captain Shane M. Then after nearly a full minute of flying, they burst out of the clouds and emerged in the midst of a full-scale five-alarm ocean storm: rain lashed their facemasks dark clouds hung low over the heaving ocean giant waves rolled and CRashed.Īnd through the rain, their target came into view, a tiny island far below them, an island that did not appear on maps anymore, an island with an airCRaft carrier parked alongside it. They shot into the cloud layer-a dense band of dark thunderclouds-freefell through the haze. One Delta team, ever aloof and seCRetive.Īnd last of all, one team of Force Reconnaissance Marines. One unit from the 82nd Airborne Division. The best of the best from every corner of the U.S. You jumped from 37,000 feet, fell fast and hard, and then stopped dangerously close to the ground, right at your drop zone.Ĭuriously, however, the forty elite troops falling to earth today fell in identifiable subgroups, ten men to a group, as if they were trying to remain somehow separate.ĬRack teams. It was a classic HALO drop-high-altitude, low-opening. They angled their bodies downward as they fell, so that they flew head-first, their masks pointed into the onrushing wind, becoming human spears, freefalling with serious intent. The forty-strong flock of paratroopers plummeted to earth, men in high-altitude jumpsuits-full-face breathing masks streamlined black bodysuits. Then the rear loading ramp of the Combat Talon rumbled open and several dozen tiny figures issued out from it in rapid sequence, spreading out into the sky behind the soaring plane. This was unusual, because there was nothing down there-according to the maps, the nearest land in this part of the Pacific was an atoll 500 klicks to the east. This Combat Talon stayed high, very high, it was as if it was trying to avoid being seen by radar systems down at sea level. It was a modified Hercules cargo plane, known as an MC-130 “Combat Talon,” the delivery vehicle of choice for U.S. You can't put a dent in the 1% with hugs, can't smash the fascists with sappiness, no nor the nazis, whether old-school or neo, so I'll leave you with a line I stole from Leo: "There can be no peace for us, only misery, and the greatest happiness." But no peace.The vicious-looking airCRaft shot aCRoss the sky at near supersonic speed. Now is neither the time nor the place for peace, so put away the puppy dogs and rainbows. Why do I get the feeling something awful is about to happen? Why do I get the feeling we need heroes jumping hurdles, Ninja Turtles, Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers to save the day? No peace!īut as I rub my eyes and open up my laptop I see "Peace in the Middle East" flash across my browser. I see America signed the treaty, I see Mario and Luigi finally defeated Bowser, and I say "hey, Ariel, wake up and check this out: Ringo was right, it's all peace and love now, love and peace." And she says "You're dreaming. The sunlight hits my face like a belt-strap slap from the parents in the olden days, and I wake up into the morning wishing I was an orphan.
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